


Home

by jazzjo



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Minor Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 20:39:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2825393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzjo/pseuds/jazzjo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say you really aren't somebody until you love somebody, and have somebody love you. They say home is where the heart is. Maybe that's why her eyes look like coming home. Maybe that's why Skye finally feels like she's home. </p><p>Coffeeshop/Bakery AU!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

_Pairing_ : Jemma Simmons/Skye

 

 _Summary_ : Skye has worked this job — being a barista at her foster mother’s bakery and coffeeshop — for just about two years now. Sure, some days are a drag, when customers are assholes and nothing goes right, but one Friday morning in September, just as the leaves outside are beginning to fall, a girl walks in and Skye stops being able to deny that she has come to regard this place as her home.

 

* * *

 

 

“Grab another two gallons of milk from under the counter, Skye,” Melinda called from her place in the back kitchen as she kneaded the last batch of dough for the day, “Morning rush in fifteen and the last thing we want is to get behind before the day starts proper.”

 

Skye did as she was told, pinning her bangs back from her face quickly before sliding the door to the fridge beneath their counter open. Two containers of fresh milk were placed on the rack beside the espresso machine, and Skye went through the motions of ensuring that enough cups of each type were stacked next to the register with three Sharpies in the pen holder. 

 

Just in case she dropped one during morning rush. 

 

Inhaling the earthy scent of freshly baked breads and pastries, Skye allowed her eyes to wander about the sparsely filled interior of the bakery cum coffeeshop. 

 

Business was comfortable — Melinda had started the shop up a year before she had begun to foster Skye, and she had accrued a good number of regulars in the eight years they had been open. Morning rush was always the same line of customers, save the occasional rare fresh face, almost always in the same order with the same requests. 

 

The hour after opening before that line came was one of Skye’s favourites about the shop. Even before she had begun to work there, back when all she had been was a gawky teenager no one really wanted who sat in a corner before school would start to do her homework, she had loved the quiet and warmth of this place the most of all. 

 

She did not stick out. She had never stuck out in this place, not even then. 

 

Melinda strode steadily out of the back kitchen with the last tray of baked goods that would go on display until something ran out. 

 

“Sea salt dark chocolate buns?” Skye remarked ecstatically when the tray passed her.

 

“You get one,” Melinda intoned, sliding the tray into the display case and closing the sliding door behind it, “After morning rush, only because it’s your favourite.”

 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” 

 

“Stop gushing and get to the counter,” Her foster mother replied, wiping her flour-dusted hands on the maroon apron that matched Skye’s, “The line is starting to form. I’ll make the drinks, you get the food, alright?”

 

“Yes ma’am,” Skye quipped, complete with a mock salute and quick shuffle back to the register. 

 

The morning rush was a forty five minute long blur of orders she knew by heart sprinkled with a handful of ‘surprise me’s and ‘what do you recommend’s. By the time it was slowing to a stop they had run out of soy milk once, and the toaster had nearly set the whole place on fire twice. 

 

“We really need a new toaster,” Skye passed another gallon of milk and a half gallon of soy over to Melinda as she complained, “This one is going to kill me one day.”

 

“You handled today well,” Melinda remarked as she stored the new supplies away, her warm eyes meeting Skye’s own and holding the gaze for a brief moment, “The trainees you’ve taught haven’t turned out all that badly either. You’re getting good at teaching them what you know.”

 

Skye felt her cheeks warm as she cast her eyes down at the register, “Thanks, mom.”

 

Melinda passed behind her, placing one hand softly on her shoulder and squeezing it as she moved towards the kitchen.

 

“I’ll go restock the croissants. Help yourself to one of the buns,” Melinda said as she entered the kitchen, “I trust you can handle the front of the store alone.”

 

Nodding her assent even though she knew her foster mother could not see it, Skye turned her attention back to the sight before her. 

 

The café in fall was beautiful. Melinda’s woodsy decor and the sturdiness of each piece of furniture complemented the flouncy, adrift feeling that autumn’s brisk winds and dancing coloured leaved tended to bring. Crunching leaves under the feet of passersby accompanied the clinking of coffee cups and their spoons, the clacking of keys on a laptop and the scratching of pen on paper or of pages on one another. 

 

Friday mornings like these were soft. Once the morning’s noise died down as most people had headed off to work, what was left were the people who enjoyed the ever present slight white noise, who did not strive to create disturbances in the comfortable situation everyone had settled into. 

 

Later on in the day would come the people who were seeking to unwind from a long week. They would be just as quiet, relishing in the ambience and in Melinda’s baked goods. Some would come with a couple of friends, tinkling laughter ever so slightly louder than white noise and chatter that would blend into the background. 

 

Students like she had been not too long ago would stream in after classes, books in hand seeking solace and a pick me up in a double shot coffee and a sugary treat. Skye liked Fridays in the coffeeshop. 

 

Skye sunk her teeth into the bun she had withdrawn from the display case, still warm from the lights that studded its walls. The fluffy richness of the dough gave way to a gush of melty lavender and chocolate. 

 

If Skye hadn’t been on the job, she would most likely have moaned.

 

For a moment she allowed her mind to wander, to contemplate how she had never stayed longer in a place than she had stayed here with Melinda. How she had grown to know the people who frequented the coffeeshop and had begun to feel comfortable in her place here. 

 

She wondered how long it would last. 

 

After all, she had technically aged out of the system three years ago, and Melinda had already done something not many would have done by first choosing to foster a teenager with a patchy record with foster families and then continuing to care for her even after she had legally become an adult. 

 

The bell on the door to the bakery ringing dragged Skye out of her own mind, prompting her to stuff the rest of the bun in her mouth and to swiftly swallow it before the next customer reached the counter. 

 

“Good morning,” the voice reached her before the owner of it had, lightly lilting and graceful as its accent folded around the words in greeting.

 

Skye refocused her eyes, bringing them away from the distant sight of fallen leaves and reddish hues to land on an ivory face framed by brown curls. 

 

Sweater Girl's in front of her had eyes of deep brown, crinkling at the corners as they lifted her cheekbones and curved her lips into a genuine smile. That smile, Skye swore right then and there, that smile could end wars and bring eternal sunshine and calm winds. 

 

Snapping herself out of her blatant staring, Skye bumbled over her words once she opened her mouth, “Good morning, uh- I’ve never seen you here. As in, um, you’ve never been to the coffeeshop before. Well, uh, when I’m on shift, anyway.” 

 

The sweater-clad girl before her giggled softly, her laugh a grace filled cascade of notes on a glockenspiel, like wind chimes. 

 

Attempting to salvage her awkwardness, Skye picked up a sharpie and shook her head as she began anew, “Sorry, um, what would you like?”

 

“Well, you are right in that I have never been here before. I’m relatively new to this town due to my new job,” She spoke, each word equal parts sunshine and lighthearted cheerfulness, “What would you recommend?”

 

“She would recommend you give her your number, given how jittery she is and how much she’s stuttering,” Came the voice from behind Skye, as Melinda carried a new tray of croissants, hot and fresh out of the oven. 

 

Skye’s eyes widened comically, an expression of mortification coming over her before she rolled her eyes and properly answered Sweater Girl's’s question. 

 

“The sea salt dark chocolate buns are to die for, if you’re a fan of lavender,” Skye began, “Otherwise my mom makes killer croissants. Like seriously I think she's murdered a couple of her enemies by spiking those dynamite pastries.”

 

Feeling the solid thwack of a cardboard cupholder meet the back of her head, Skye raised her hands halfway in an admission of defeat before casting her glance towards Sweater Girl's once more. 

 

“The bun sounds great, especially if it came with a cup of earl grey,” She finally decided, the smile that had previously captivated Skye returning to reclaim its place over the forehead wrinkling and lip biting that had appeared as she had mulled over her options. 

 

“For here, or to go?” 

 

Her smile curved upwards further as her lips parted, revealing her perfectly white teeth that were just the slightest bit crooked. 

 

“For here, I believe. This is such a nice place and I have some time to spare before I have to head into the lab today.”

 

“You’re a scientist, then?” Skye enquired, setting about preparing Sweater Girl's’s drink in a wide porcelain mug with the loose leaf tea that was stacked beside the espresso machine. 

 

“With the S.H.I.E.L.D. Institute down the street from here. I moved here from my hometown in Devon, England for this job. It’s a wonderful opportunity that opens so many doors for biochemical research that I would hardly have been able to do elsewhere. It feels like I have the whole world at my feet, there, sometimes.” 

 

Her cheeks flushed a dusky shade of red as she pressed her lips together and looked down at her feet, her brightly expressive voice fading into a muted murmur, “I’m sorry, I was rambling, wasn’t I?”

 

“It’s alright, it’s cute, really,” Skye reassured her, setting the mug on a saucer and placing it in front of Sweater Girl's on the register once she had placed the money handed to her in the register, “I’ll bring the bun over once I’ve heated it up a little — it’s even better warm, I swear. You can sit first.”

 

“Thank you-“

 

“-Skye. My name is Skye.”

 

Sweater Girl beamed at Skye as she uttered her thanks, while Skye turned to move towards the display case, making to grab one of the buns to heat up. 

 

Melinda handed one of the pastries over to her on a plate, a smirk on her face as she gave her daughter a cursory once-over. 

 

“Your father is going to have an aneurysm if he finds out I’m aiding and abetting this,” Melinda began, using a pair of tongs to pull a caramel wafer out of the toaster and placing it on the plate next to the bun, “But she seems nice, and you look smitten. If you get a date and you’re happy because of this girl, Phil’s overprotective tendencies I can deal with.”

 

“Thanks, Mom,” Skye murmured.

 

“Don’t thank me, get the food to her before it gets cold. I did not heat both of those items up only for you to let them go cold.”

 

Skye held the plate in both her trembling hands as she approached the table where Sweater Girl sat, her hair falling in a waterfall beside her face and obscuring it from Skye’s view as she stirred her tea. 

 

Sweater Girl looked up, grinning at Skye as she placed the plate in front of her. 

 

“The wafer is on the house,” Skye remarked as she processed the quizzical look that Sweater Girl cast at her plate. 

 

“Thank you,” She replied, her smile eliciting a sensation of warmth that spread throughout Skye’s chest, “Do you have a minute to sit and join me?”

 

“Sure thing,” Skye immediately reverted, before slowing a little and casting a look back towards the counter, only to catch a reassuring nod from Melinda. 

 

Sweater Girl broke the wafer on the plate before her in half, taking one in her own hand before sliding the plate over to Skye and motioning for her to take the other. 

 

“My name is Jemma, Jemma Simmons. I figured that since I know yours, you should know mine as well.”

 

“What’s your story, Simmons?” Skye leaned her head to the left as she regarded the girl before her, “What brings you to this place of all places on a Friday morning in September?”

 

Jemma sheepishly smiled as her face coloured once more, her voice tentative as she spoke, “I pass by here a lot, on my way to work. Friday is my late day, see, I only go in at eleven. I always see you setting up, every morning at six, so I decided that maybe I should use my free couple of hours on a Friday to come by.”

 

“Do you, maybe,” Skye hesitated, her eyelids fluttering as she tried to get the words out in the right order, “Do you maybe want to go out sometime? With me, on a date?”

 

“Of course,” Jemma had replied, her eyes widening before she composed herself once more. 

 

Skye pulled out the yellow post-it pad that she kept in her apron pocket and the pen from behind her ear and wrote out her number in deliberate strokes, sticking it on the table between the two of them before she rose apologetically. 

 

“I have to get back, sorry,” Skye began, biting her lip as she paused, “Just text me, or call me, or find me here. I really want to take you out on a date properly.”

 

With that, Skye left Jemma to her bun and tea, taking her place back at the counter. Serving each of the customers as they came, Skye grinned inwardly as each passed and she went about her day. Before long an empty plate and mug were brought back to the counter, with a new post-it — pastel green, she noted — with a string of numbers on it, signed with a cursive J and a drawn heart. 

 

Peeling the post-it off the side of the mug, Skye flipped it over to reveal the writing on the back — Even though I don’t really drink coffee, I’ll keep coming back. For the pastries and tea. Also you. 

 

Tucking the post-it into her apron pocket, Skye looked up to find that her gaze was met with the crinkled edges and deep brown of Jemma’s eyes. 

 

“Thank your mother for me,” She remarked as she turned to leave, “And thank you. I’ll call you, if you don’t end up calling me first.”

 

The day had gone on as usual, and Melinda had not pried until lunch.

 

When one o’clock hit, the front door swung open to reveal a man in a suit with thinning hair and pronounced smile lines. Skye called for her mother who had gone into the kitchen to retrieve another tray of sandwiches, before gathering the usual order that she always had prepared for her father come lunch hour. 

 

Phil and Melinda met with a warm hug, quiet words exchanged between them as their daughter handed him his lunch. 

 

“Who’s this ‘J’, Skye?” Phil questioned, peeling a pastel green note from the bottom of the paper bag that held his lunch. 

 

Immediately Skye’s hands flew to her apron pocket before her right hand flew up to smack herself on the forehead. 

 

“A girl she met today, Phillip,” Melinda intoned, “Tone it down a little. She’s twenty one and the girl seems nice enough.”

 

Phil dragged one hand through his sparse remaining hair as he handed the note back to his daughter. 

 

“Her handwriting is nice,” He forced through his teeth, “I trust your mom when she says the girl is nice, but I expect to meet her sometime soon, alright?”

 

“Literally, dad, we met today,” Skye muttered, exasperated.

 

“Soon.”

 

“Fine,” Skye retorted, before reverting into her usual cheery tone, “Hey dad, she doesn’t drink coffee either.”

 

“But she’s going to keep coming back. At least she isn’t going to be like your mother and open a coffeeshop even though she doesn’t drink coffee,” Phil chuckled, placing a soft kiss on the top of Skye’s head before he turned back to Melinda. 

 

They shared a brief kiss and soft words as Skye pretended to gag beside them, groaning until they parted. Phil turned to leave the shop, and left with one last parting shot.

 

“Hopefully this relationship lasts, because the next time your mother plays wing-woman for you, I’m going to go all scary Papa Bear on whoever it is.”

 

_It would_ , Skye allowed herself to think, _she had never met someone who had made her feel like Jemma had made her feel within seconds of meeting her. One look into Jemma’s eyes and at that smile had changed everything._

 

It had cemented the knowledge in her that this was home. 

 

She had never had a home before, not until Melinda and Phil had taken her in and never kicked her out, and had never made her want to leave. Now that she had met Jemma, she knew she would never want to leave, not without Jemma, at the very least. This was what having a home felt like. 

 

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and as she moved back to her place at the counter she pulled it out of the back pocket of her jeans. Looks like Jemma got to the phone before she did, after all. 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
